


Mooncoin Jig

by DarkmoonSigel



Series: The Notes Played In Between [30]
Category: Hannibal (TV), King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Sex, Budding Love, M/M, Rimming, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonSigel/pseuds/DarkmoonSigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ignoring the movie's ending but set in the same world, Arthur and his knights patrol Hadrian's Wall. This is a small story about two warrior who fall in love.<br/>Not Beta Read<br/>One shot story at this point in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Owl and Dove

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-mix36SjZY  
> Mooncoin Jig is an instrumental by Steeleye Span, an English folk rock band that excels in traditional songs from Medieval times and such.  
> I own nothing.  
> Not Beta Read.
> 
> Decide if you want more of this, otherwise I'll move on to other things.

“We all know and it’s fine.”

Galahad finished adjusting his saddle to give his friend and fellow Sarmatian knight his full attention. Gawain was studying him earnestly as if he wanted him to believe the sincerity of his words.

“Know what?” Galahad asked honestly. He had really had no idea what Gawain was talking about, the young warrior racking his brain for any reason that required such understanding from not only Gawain, but the entire company it would seem. Apparently that wasn’t the answer Gawain wanted or was expecting, the long hair knight huffing in irritation, like Galahad was putting him on.

“No need to play coy, Galahad. It doesn’t suit.” Gawain sighed. “Are we not friends? Brothers in arms?”

“Yes, we are. All that and more, but I have really no idea about you are going on about.” Galahad gave his fellow knight a strange look, confused further still by the sour expression he got in return.

“You and Tristan.” Gawain said rather dryly, clearly not amused.

“What about Tristan and I?” Galahad laughed, relieved it was nothing serious until his friend’s face told him that it was. Realization was painful for both men.

“Oh great green gods, you seriously haven’t noticed. You two are supposed to be our archers, looking out for our backsides!” Gawain groaned, running his hands down his handsome face in mock despair and frustration.

“Tell me what you mean when you say that!” Galahad could feel his cheeks beginning to burn if he certain about what Gawain was implying. 

“What about our archers?” Bors grunted, coming up to join the pair. He was followed closely by Dagonet.

“Fair Galahad is unaware of any interest from our dear Tristan.” Gawain told the others, making Galahad reconsider their friendship.

“That’s a frightening thought considering how much time they waste ogling each other.” Bors laughed low and rough, the sound quietly echoed by Dagonet, the large man shaking his head in amusement.

“I do not ogle. Anyone. Especially Tristan.” Galahad snapped, knowing that was untrue as soon as he said it. In battle, it was his job to watch all the men, including Tristan. It was just that Tristan happened to be the only other true archer in their little band. How could he not watch? The man could shoot out the eye of a Woad at well over a hundred paces in the dark, and when he chose to dismount to engage the enemy in battle hand to hand, Tristan moved like a dancer. He never wasted a motion, never mistimed a step or strike. If death was an art form, then Tristan was a master of his medium. He could make even the grim horror of killing another person beautiful, reminding Galahad more of a snake more than the hawk the other equated Tristan to.

“And Tristan doesn’t take any special notice of me either, so quit being foolish.” Galahad said, trying to appear more interested in tending to his horse than continuing this ridiculous conversation. 

“No special notice? I don’t know about that.” Gawain said, giving the young knight a considering look. “He sharpens your weapons for you. I can’t say to say. Can you, Bors? Dag?”

The other men shook their shaven heads, looking highly amused as a strange weight began to settle in Galahad’s stomach. Though it was a group effort, each man was ultimately responsible for the upkeep of his weapons. Their survival hinged on it. A slightly dull blade that glided over armor at the wrong moment instead of piercing it or a faulty arrowhead that failed to hit its mark could make all the difference in battle. More often than not though, Galahad would find his sword, lance, knives, and arrows maintained and even perfected by the tattooed archer. Tristan’s talent with a whetstone bordered on the supernatural, and no blade was keener after his attention to it.

“Yes. That is why no matter what season, Tristan somehow always manages to bring back a brace of rabbits whether it’s his turn to hunt or not.” Bors chortled, making that sinking feeling in Galahad’s belly hit bottom with all the subtlety of a thrown stone in shallow water. 

“I like rabbit.” Galahad mumbled, meant more for himself than directed toward the others.

“Yes. We know.” Bors laughed, the others adding their own voices to it much to Galahad‘s chagrin. It died down when they were joined by the rest of their band. Arthur, Lancelot, and Tristan returned from hunting, their horses loaded with gathered and caught provisions.

“Well, will you look at that. If it isn’t Tristan, and what have you brought for us today?” Bors asked, Dagonet choking with laughter behind him as Galahad grew red in the face. The answer was hanging from Tristan’s side, plain as day and twice as fluffy.

“Rabbit.” Tristan gave his companions strange looks, gesturing down to the fresh brace of meat tied to his saddle.

“Oh. Rabbit. Imagine that.” Bors choked out the words between rough bouts of laughter. Dagonet couldn’t keep a straight face any longer either, using Bors to keep himself upright.

“Galahad, come back!” Gaiwan called after his friend, the young knight’s blush marking his ears and the back of his neck as well as he abruptly abandoned all their company. “Where are you going?”

“To get some water.” Galahad snapped over his shoulder, refusing to look back as he strode off. He could feel a gaze locked onto the nape of his neck. Galahad had a good idea who it belonged to, but didn’t have the courage to meet it at the moment. 

“He’s going to hate himself when he realizes he forgot to collect the skins.” Lancelot shook his head. Arthur sighed, motioning to Gawain. 

“Go help him and bring the water skins along you. Keep him from doing something foolish, like drowning himself. We’ll finish setting up camp.” Arthur ordered as he side looked his other archer, the stoic warrior’s expression unreadable. Saying and offering nothing in word or gesture, Tristan stared after Galahad’s retreating form long after the young knight left his sharp sight.

OoOoO

By the time they returned to camp laden down with full water skins, a tedious yet necessary chore, Tristan was not there. Secretly, Galahad tried to look about for him, a small part of him hoping that Tristan wasn‘t there while another yearned for the other man‘s company if just to clear up this misunderstanding between them. The others’ grins told Galahad that he was not being as covert as he would have liked, the observation souring the young man‘s face, especially when he noticed what had been made for their dinner that night. A rabbit stew was just about done cooking up over the fire, thick with meat, roots, and barley. 

“About time. Took you long enough. What were you two doing? Washing each other’s hair?” Bors grumbled, taking one of the skins to drink deeply from it. “I was dying of thirst. Tristan, used the last of the water to make your favorite, Galahad, before starting the watch.”

Galahad swore silently under his breath, wondering how long things like this had been going on without his awareness, how long he had been shown favor by the older man. He wondered when Tristan had started courting him, and what he could have done to gain the quiet warrior’s notice. 

“Funny that. I could have sworn it was your turn for first watch tonight.” Bors poked the young knight who glared sullenly back at him. 

“Well, that was kind of him.” Gawain smirked, helping himself to some of the food. “I can’t remember the last time he did that for any of us.”

“Pity that he took none for himself. It’s rather good, don’t you think?” Lancelot smirked around his mouthful, shooting a sly wink to Arthur who considered his men, his beloved knights. He bore them no ill will about any decision that ran this personal. If two of them could find some sort of happiness in among all this death and blood that was their existence then who was he to ruin it.

“Bors and Dagonet, take care of the horses. Gawain and Lancelot will see to the weapons, and I the armor.” Arthur ordered, keeping his look of amusement to himself. “Galahad, please bring Tristan his dinner. I don’t want him distracted by hunger.”

Gritting his teeth, Galahad did as he was told, knowing this was his leader’s blessing to a relationship he had not even known about, or even conceived as possibility until today. 

“You better come back soon and not make me come looking for you. I’m not getting shot full of holes because you two were too busy fucking each other to keep watch.” Bors grunted.

“No worries there. You snore so loud they could shoot you dead in the dark without even really trying.” Galahad threw over his shoulder in parting.

“I do not snore!” Bors snapped, finding no support in Dagonet or anyone else for that matter. All in the company had been woken up at one point or another by the rotund man‘s deep bellow of a snore.

“You and air must be having a long, ongoing disagreement then.” Gawain laughed, tossing his whetstone in the air to catch it.

“I don’t snore.” Bors grumbled to the horses who offered no opinions back on the matter.

OoOoO

Picking up out the paths through the forest, the ones left behind by deer, badgers, and the occasional Sarmatian knight, Galahad made him way to where he assumed Tristan would be. The man was their cleverest scout, moving like shadow and smoke over any terrain. If he did not wished to be found even by them, there was no hope in trying. 

This land was one of the safer places to make camp with water at their back, and ridges of rock at their sides, leaving only one real path in and out of the secluded clearing where they took their rest. Protecting the Wall meant patrolling all that it bordered from time to time, all 80 roman miles of it. It also meant a lot of long, dull days on horseback and even colder nights in lost places, interrupted by brief moments of bright death in shades of steel, red, and Woad blue.

“Up here.” came a low voice from high overheard, Galahad looking up to see dark eyes regarding him through branches. 

“I brought you food. I’ll trade places with you so you can eat.” Galahad offered, moving off to the side so that Tristan could swing down. The man did so as silent as an owl. This part of their territory was usually free of Woads, far too South for their kind, but they couldn’t be too careful. They had lost others needlessly assuming such things before. 

Trying to quickly hand off the wooden bowl so that he could climb tree and take Tristan’s place, Galahad found his hands caught and held, just for a moment. Tristan’s larger hands overlapped his own, the older man’s callused palms warm despite the chill in the night air. Forgetting how to breath, Galahad could only stare down at the darker fingers lacing over his paler hands, unsure of where to take this…thing….whatever it was… happening between them. 

The decision was not left up to him though, Tristan taking the bowl from him to drink the broth from its rim, his dark eyes meeting Galahad’s blue own as he did so. It was intense that look that burned in those sunlit amber brown orbs, Tristan leaving all the words for Galahad to speak if he chose to, if he had the courage for it.

Licking his lips, his tongue feeling too dry and clumsy even in this small effort, Galahad gathered his wits about him. He was about to make a dangerous decision, one that could change his life forever. Tristan was not the type to lightly love or fritter his loyalty away. 

“I could stay…” Galahad found himself start to say.

“No.” Tristan stated calmly, finishing his meal to hand the bowl back to Galahad. “Go back.”

Stepping away as if struck, Galahad bowed his head to hide the hurt look he knew he couldn’t keep off his face. For something so new and undefined, it felt raw when wounded, more so than it should. Salvaging what was left of his pride, Galahad turned to leave, Tristan already back up in the tree. He almost missed the words that floated downward upon him light as snow fall and soft as the moonlight that tipped the world around them in silver.

“Galahad…” was enough to make the young knight pause and look up though he couldn’t see his fellow knight.

“It is not that your company would be unwelcome…” Tristan said, his words a whisper of wind in the dark.“…I would find it too distracting.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep you company another night. When we are back at the Wall and we can both afford to be distracted.” Galahad said slowly, tentative in his proposal. He wasn’t even sure what he was offering anymore. He waited for an answer, knowing that he would not be able to leave without one. It came as he knew it would, after a held moment.

“That would be welcome.”

OoOoO


	2. Wolf and Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad thinks about Tristan, and his reservations about what might happen between them or even if it should.  
> Not Beta Read

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of this cause I'm on a roll.  
> Not Beta Read

Too long they were out in the wild and patrolling the Wall, the need to return to the safe confines of their fort beginning to gnaw at Galahad. Though there was the usual banter between traveling companions, neither Galahad or Tristan spoke about the promise made that night, if it even was one. It was almost like a dream to Galahad in some aspects, wondering what would occur when they returned. He wasn’t so innocent or naïve as to not know what may happen, what they might do with one another. The offer made in the dark lay like a bond between them, strengthened further by looks held too long between them or touches that lingered well past the point of accidental or casual. 

If the others noticed, they mostly kept it to themselves behind knowing looks and smug grins that Tristan ignored, but made Galahad flush all the way down to his neck whenever Bors chortled too loud or Gawain couldn‘t hold his tongue any longer. As much as the others liked to make fun of his virtue and youth, Galahad knew the touch of another, had sought pleasure when and where he could from milky breasts and the sodden gash between maid’s legs. There was no love there, no devotion though, just a fulfillment of need. 

What was laying claim to Galahad’s being went deeper than occasional roll in the hay with a pretty face and a willing body. Galahad had always thought such things like adoration and passion only existed in poems and songs, pretty notions meant for others.

Even now this dream was built on sand, Galahad knowing that it could never work, the tides of the real world working against them. Even if they were free men and not servants to the whim of Rome, Galahad knew that they thought too differently. Both men looked at this life of theirs from entirely opposite points of view. Galahad hated all of it- the killing, the blood that seemed to coat him as easily as rain, and the death that followed him wherever he went no matter how far they rode. On the other hand, Tristan seemed to live for nothing more than to further his skill and sharpen his blades on loss of life, each victory he took another facet made towards his perfection as a killer. 

“That is not a happy face. What are you thinking about so hard it curdles your good looks?” Gawain chided, interrupting Galahad’s internalization. It made the younger knight’s scowl deepen in response. 

“Things I have no hope of changing.” Galahad muttered, avoiding looking over at his friend. He could never keep a sulk for long with the cheerful man around, and he wanted to dwell on his thoughts.

“Then why think of them at all?” Even now, Gawain’s flippant nature was already beginning to raise his spirits. 

“What else is there to do? Besides stare at a horse’s backside?” Galahad sighed, letting go of his sour nature. He needed to resolve this, but this was neither the time or place.

“I know whose backside you’d rather be staring at.” Gawain smirked, waggling his eyebrows in a lecherous manner.

“Lower your voice.” Galahad said, shooting the other knight a warning look.

“Why? Tristan has ridden far ahead to check the road. He won’t get jealous of me speaking with you.” Gawain grinned, shameless and knowing how to twist Galahad in and out of shape, and back into good humor.

“I despise and loathe you.” Galahad laughed, finally breaking out into a smile.

“That’s the spirit. I wouldn’t want to get on Tristan’s bad side by making him think that you were fond of me.” Gawain said. Having enough teasing and wanting some peace, Galahad rode up ahead alongside Arthur, hoping for some silence. He realized his mistake when he found his leader studying him with that penetrating stare of his, like he was studying Galahad‘s spirit.

“Have you come to a decision?” Arthur asked point blank. Roman upbringing or not, the man was not one to waste time on niceties when it counted.

“Yes…of a sort.” Galahad mumbled, wishing he could fall back out of this conversation. Gawain’s teasing didn’t seem so bad now. 

“Make sure it is one you can live by, one that we all can live by. We travel this road together. If you do not think that you can be with Tristan, tell him now.” Arthur told his knight sternly, his bright hazel eyes hard and piercing. “If you put it off, he will feel betrayed, and that will not sit well among the others. I will not have dissent among my men. Do you understand?”

“Yes….” Galahad swallowed the rest of his answer as he stiffly nodded.

“Good. You two are very different from one another, and I can not tell you why Tristan chooses to do half the things he decides upon, but you will not find anyone more true, more honorable than him.” Arthur gave his knight a slight smile to soften his hard-bitten tone. Tristan was one of his most unique knights, one that seemed to live by his own moral code, but a man of grace and honor none the less. He would like to see him happy, and not the kind he looked when he was on the battlefield. 

“I know all this. That is what worries me. Our differences. That and we do not lead long lives.” Galahad voiced one of his fears. It was one of the reasons they were not allowed to wed. Any woman would be a guaranteed widow, and any children orphans. Not that it stopped Bors from producing nearly a dozen bastards or made Lenora love him any less. 

“We will all die someday, Galahad, but if you choose to pursue this, at least you will have known something other than blood. This is your decision, one you are free to make.” Arthur said, his eyes turning morose. He knew the burden that was carried by his knight, all his men, even felt it himself living under Rome’s thumb. Not one to hold his tongue, Galahad was the most vocal about it. No one could beat the rebellious words out of him though many had tried.

“One of the few freedoms I have.” Galahad grimaced, the truth of the matter leaving a familiar bitter taste in his mouth.

“Then do so wisely.”

OoOoO

The tree was so loaded with fruit, its boughs practically touched the ground, its branches crooked and heavy with its bounty. Following his nose, Galahad knew that he had smelled the sweetness of rotting fruit, tracking the odor down to find this lone tree hidden in the woods. It was a green god’s gift that it was apples. 

Grinning to himself, Galahad loaded up as much as he could carry upon his person to bring back to camp. He wasn’t supposed to be out this far while on foot patrol, but the sweet scent carried in on the wind had peaked his interest. The discovery that it was apples only made this unexpected gift the all more sweeter.

In his thoughts of late, Galahad knew that Tristan loved apples. The warrior had few vices. He didn’t pursue women, rarely drank, and never indulged in gambling. Having a weakness for anything sweet, Tristan did love his fruit and honey though, apples in particular the man rarely seen without one when they were in season. 

The fruit would be for all the men to share in, but the gift of what it was would be solely meant for Tristan. Pleased with himself, Galahad found he should have been paying more attention to his surroundings than gathering his spoils when an arrow embedded itself in the tree’s trunk, right beside his head. From his up-close and personal view of it, the arrow’s make told the knight it was of Woad origin, and if he didn’t want to meet its sender that he best leave now while he still could. 

Running through the woods, zigzagging when and where he could through the underbrush, Galahad dodged arrows and flung stones like strange, deadly hail. Feeling the knick of blades and bruise of stones on his legs and arms, Galahad’s chest began to tighten. To his surprise, it was from more sorrow than panic. He wasn’t afraid to die. It had always assumed that his death would bloody, a fate chosen for him by unseen masters and the gods‘ whim.

Warriors used panic to stay alive, taking the energy and quickness that came from it to aid in their attacks and their escapes if need be. It was the sorrow’s presence that was confusing to Galahad, and not the kind he expected. Part of him had accepted that he would never see his people or homeland again in this life. It was an old grief.

The mourning he was experiencing as he fought to keep ahead of the onslaught was the loss of a choice. In that moment between quick breathes, Galahad realized that he could never truly get to know Tristan or why the odd man had set his sights on him. He would never experience the moments that he had only heard about from bards, was greedy and envious of others for, though he would never admit it aloud. To live a life where he could have known an ardor that few ever got the chance to feel. 

The sudden answer to all his earlier doubts and questions struck Galahad heavier than any projectile, causing the knight to stumble over his own feet. As he fell forward, Galahad knew he was a dead man. The loss of momentum was all the chance the Woads would need to overtake and butcher him. Galahad cursed at the earth he fell upon as he heard the Woads move to close in on him.

The air was filled with the sounds of the dying, though to his surprise, none came from Galahad. Three Woads fell, one after the other in precise quick order with an arrow shot cleanly through their eye. The fact it was all in the left eye told Galahad that it could only be Tristan, the knight scrambling to his feet now that he had the chance to do so. 

More arrows flew in rapid succession, all past Galahad and into their blue skinned enemy, keeping them back. Their once superior numbers greatly depleted within mere moments made what was left of the Woads give up the ghost and depart as silently as they came. 

Having tempted fate enough for one day, Galahad kept with the idea of running or at least tried to. He found himself dissuaded from this notion when he was grabbed and slammed up against a tree. As a strong arm pinned him firmly in place, Galahad found himself staring into brilliant amber eyes, more incensed with rage than their usual calm. 

“What are you doing out here this far in the woods by yourself?” Tristan growled, refusing to let up or even allow Galahad to move an inch. His bow lay at their feet, the tattooed archer providing cover up till the instant he grabbed for the knight. This was still a dangerous place for them to be, one in which they should not linger, but there were things that could not be left unsaid. 

Instead of answering right away with words, Galahad reached down to free something from his pouch, the bag on his belt filled heavy with a great many of something. Of all things, an apple was produced into view, the sweet fruit slightly battered and fragrantly bleeding juice. 

“It seemed well worth the trouble at the time.” Galahad said softly as he watched Tristan’s eyes flit from the fruit to his face.

At first, Galahad thought that Tristan had struck him, his lips sore and bleeding in an instant, his vision blurred and his head dizzy. As his brain caught up, he realized that the man was kissing him hard, brutally and suddenly enough to have their teeth knock painfully against each other, cutting into their flesh. Hands upon the sides of his face kept Galahad from moving now even if he had wanted to, strong fingers moving around and up his scalp to grip at his curls in a tight hold. A heavy armored body trapped him up against the tree, the metal scraping together and gouging bark as Galahad was sandwiched between a rock of a man and hard place. 

It was a consuming kind of kiss, one that Galahad had never experienced before as he tasted the sweetness of longing and desire along side the sourness of fear. He knew Tristan didn’t fear for himself so its presence there between them meant that he had an effect of the other man, that his death would wound him. There was desperation there at well, the need to know every inner recess and to connect on some level.

The kiss left Galahad breathless and light headed with heady knowledge as Tristan invaded his mouth and stole his breath because he could, he was the only one allowed to do such a thing. Need for oxygen was the only thing that parted them, both men panting the same space of air, their lips still moist and touching.

“You are a fool.” Tristan snapped though his rough voice had already lost most of its anger. Finally releasing Galahad and drawing away from the younger knight like the man was temptation himself, Tristan took the apple that Galahad had somehow managed to cling to during the amorous lapse in judgment. The tattooed warrior hoped that he hadn’t scared the other man away from him by showing Galahad how much he wanted him. Tristan had given away much in that kiss.

“Yes, but I am your fool.” Galahad said without thinking. His admittance stunned them both for a moment, either trying to read the other. Galahad prayed he had not spoken too hastily as was his nature and sometimes his own downfall. “If you want me…”

“I do…..” Tristan said, the look upon his face thoughtful yet fond as he chewed his apple. “….so I had better do my best to keep you alive then.” 

Both men knew they had to return to camp soon before the other knights came looking for them, but they had the journey back to enjoy each other’s company. Few words were exchanged, but then again, not many were needed for understanding. There would be time for long conversations later at the Wall and in bed, the thought of which warmed Galahad from within, and made the younger man feel strangely giddy.

It was that sensation that made him reach for Tristan before they came into the camp’s view camp and in the sight of the other knights, the younger man catching the end of the archer‘s braids to bring him to a halt. Before his new courage failed him, Galahad leaned in to quickly brush his lips, once, twice, against Tristan’s inked cheeks. The thrice kiss was a chaste promise placed to his lips, Galahad smiling into the finish of it.

“We will keep each other alive.” 

OoOoO  
TBC


	3. Hawk and Stag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The knights return to the fort. Galahad and Tristan have their moment together.  
> Not Beta Read

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three. Updated like a boss. 'puts on pimp sunglasses'  
> Not Beta Read

Upon their long anticipated return to the fort, Tristan found Galahad in the stables, the young knight their horse master. While not well versed in diplomacy like Arthur and Lancelot were, Galahad had a way with animals, the most feral beast gentling under his touch and soft tone of words. It was what had first attracted Tristan to the younger knight, made him take notice of Galahad and elevate him from a comrade in arms to someone he could allow himself to show affection to. 

While he was outspoken and brash, often letting his opinion be known even if it was unpopular, Galahad always spoke the truth of a matter. It had gotten him trouble before, his training particularly hard for him because of it. The harsher the treatment Galahad received from men though, the gentler he became with animals, the knight having a kind aura about him that soothed both wolf and lamb alike. 

When Tristan found himself wanting to be one of those animals, envious to know the feel of Galahad’s light touch and hear those honeyed words spoken to him instead of just overheard, the quiet archer knew he had been marked. His approach had been subtle but insistent, like the way he had lured his hawk with scraps of food, gaining the bird’s trust until it could be properly caught and trained. He wanted to do the same to Galahad. 

Even now, he moved to stand beside the man he desired, watching Galahad from his peripheral. Since their return, the younger knight seemed to be drawn taunt as a bow string. Too much pressure and mishandling would cause him to snap. A gentle approach was needed to unwind him. So Tristan simply stood at his side, letting Galahad choose what to do next. 

Reminding himself to keep breathing, Galahad bit at his bottom lip, at a complete loss at how to proceed. Tristan wasn’t some easy barmaid half drunk on wine and flush with lust, an companion who would be happy enough with his cock for a night for an hour or a night. This was something different and deep and Galahad desperately didn’t want to fail himself or Tristan. 

The air about Galahad was like that of a horse during a storm, jittery and ready to run at the slightest provocation. Tristan knew he would give chase if he did but he wanted this night to be one of leisure.

Reaching over slowly so that Galahad could follow his movements, Tristan ran his hand down the length of Galahad’s arm, starting at his shoulder. He could feel the man shudder beneath his fingertips, wanting to bolt. Tristan continued though, stopping at his elbow to swirl his fingers around the joint, fanning out his hand as he moved further on. Galahad’s arms, like the rest of him, was finely shaped, muscular yet wiry. Tristan wanted to see all of it under him before this night was over. 

His caresses touched upon Galahad’s wrist before finding the man’s fingers so that Tristan could tangle them together, tugging at the callused digits with his own before letting go. Without any words spoken between them, Tristan turned to leave, the decision of what happened next falling upon Galahad. To his quiet relief, Tristan heard the other man follow him after only a moment’s hesitation. 

Galahad didn’t have to wonder long where they were going, their destination obviously becoming the baths. In Galahad’s opinion, the series of chambers were about the only good thing the Roman had ever given them. Well, that and indoor plumbing. There was something to be said about not having to dig a hole outside to relieve yourself on a cold night.

The bath houses were built in and over a natural hot spring, the soothing warm waters accessible to all thanks to Arthur’s influence, though one pool in particular was set aside for his and the knight’s use alone. A hidden chamber apart from the rest gave the warriors some privacy and a space of peace to lounge in at their leisure, the little they were given. 

At this time of night, Galahad knew it would be empty, save for himself and Tristan. Arthur would be writing his reports and praying to his god while Dagonet and Bors drank themselves silly at the bar. Lancelot and Gawain would be there as well, either gambling or wenching some fortunate barmaid. 

Having less to take off that Tristan, Galahad was in the bath well before him, very carefully not looking over at Tristan as he disrobed. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other naked before. Living in each other’s pockets while on the road left little to the imagination. If hard pressed and under protest, Galahad could reluctantly go into detail about Bors’s and Dagonet’s unmentionables if he had to. 

Closing his eyes, Galahad listened to Tristan strip down. He knew this man’s body, at least by sight and then only in quick looks. Tanned skin, scarred from and tattooed by design. Thinner legs than one would think, finely made yet lithe and strong. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, and sharply curved hips, all of which were being pressed up to his back now as strong arms came around his waist to keep Galahad close. 

Hot water lapping at their shoulders, Galahad could feel Tristan breathing on the back of his neck, the archer parting his lips to place a sodden kiss to his nape. Large hands were back upon Galahad, touching him almost reverently everywhere as they glided in and out of the water in exploration. 

“Let me clean you.” was whispered into Galahad’s ear, the man only able to weakly nod his consent as he was gently guided to the bath’s seating area. In a daze, Galahad watched as the ashen grit of the soup was working over his skin. Tristan started with his hands, taking his time massaging the fine workings of muscles and delicate bones, somehow making this more intimate that if he were touching Galahad lower between his thighs.

Following up his form to touch the muscular line and curve of his arms and shoulders, Tristan caressed Galahad’s chest, exploring the flat plains of his chest, weapon roughed fingers circling around nipples to make them bud and harden. Trembling now from this treatment, Galahad watched as his belly was given the same treatment, those wonderful fingers catching in tight dark curls, making Galahad moan as they were tugged at.

Made to sit out of the bath on the ledge, Galahad’s legs and feet were admired and scrubbed until his skin was pink with care and the occasional bite mark. Panting, Galahad ran his fingers through long ashen brown hair, tugging at the braids woven in those locks as a hot tongue lapped the water from off his inner thighs. 

The area Galahad wanted most explored though was let achingly untouched, his cock standing out from its thatch of curls, leaking clear droplets like strange dew. When he impatiently wrapped a hand around himself, that got a reaction but not the one he wanted, Tristan slapping his hand away before pulling Galahad back into the water and onto his lap.

Galahad gasped as his cock rubbed up against Tristan’s own, the man full and heavy as the younger knight as he settled on top of the archer. Putting his arms around Tristan’s shoulders for stability, Galahad held him close as he licked his way into the older man’s mouth, sucking and nipping at the plaint flesh there until it reddened and bruised. 

Beginning to feel desperate, Galahad gasped a slurred curse against Tristan’s lips, their cocks now pressed firmly together in Tristan’s hands. To his own personal shame, Galahad didn’t last long, Tristan’s heavy handed strokes pulling the pleasure from his flesh as easily as the man could draw a sword. 

Resting their foreheads together, Galahad lost himself the whiteout sensation, panting as his body thrust and danced to Tristan’s touch, the press of his palm. Through half lidded eyes whose sight was hazy from bliss, Galahad knew that he was being watched, Tristan’s gaze never shying away as Galahad showed him a moment of vulnerability.

Not to be outdone and made useless, Galahad reached for his lover, Tristan leaning into his hold upon him as both their fingers rippled and contracted over heated flesh. When Galahad swiped a thumb over an overripe head to press the pad into the weeping slit, Tristan was lost. He voiced out his pleasure, emptying out his sighs and groans into Galahad’s mouth, their kiss sloppy and wet and fantastic as they continued to rock against one another. They only stilled when their flesh became too oversensitive to keep touching, making everywhere else fair game in its stead.

“You owe me a coin.” Bors said, making Galahad go the knife that wasn’t on his person at the moment. The new lovers glared up at the trio who watched them with wickedly smug grins on their faces from the bath‘s entrance where they lounged, jars of wine from the bar still in hand.

“Hardly. If fair Galahad was a blushing bride, he would still be a virgin.” Gawain argued, shaking his head and gesturing to the naked men before them as his evidence. 

“He’s still blushing.” Dagonet pointed out with a grin, all the knights looking quite pleased with themselves.

“Pay up. A bet’s a bet, and details are for misers.” Bors said, smacking Gawain’s arm. The other man sighed, fishing out his money from its pouch. Before Galahad could attack or say anything in his defense, he found himself being thrown over a broad shoulder, his new view that of Tristan’s backside. The tattooed archer easily carried his prize out of the bath, giving up their clothes in favor of walking toward their quarters. 

Watching in despair as his garments disappeared from view, Galahad glared up that the leering faces that filled his limited vision. “Help me, you asses.” He snapped at them. Struggling only resulted in Tristan smacking his ass and wounding his pride further. 

“I would, dear friend, but I think Tristan might take offense. That being said, I happen to like where my cock is and the condition it’s in.” Gawain chuckled as he watched Galahad try to free himself again to no avail. 

“Quit struggling or I’ll fuck you in the middle of the square instead of a soft bed.” Tristan said, tightening his grip upon his treasure.

“You wouldn’t!” Galahad gasped even as he stilled. He wouldn’t put it past Tristan to do so. The possessive look in the archer’s eyes promised the intent of making everyone know that Galahad was his and his alone.

“Please do! I’ll get my coin back.” Gawain called after them. 

“I wish the vilest of deaths upon you all.” Galahad told them in sincere tones, making the trio break out into laughter. 

“I hope that’s not your pillow talk!” Gawain said to be answered with a rude hand gesture from the carried knight. Just as Galahad figured it couldn’t get any worse, the pair passed Lancelot and Arthur in the hall, Galahad getting a unique view of their amused faces as they looked back at them. Dieing a little on the inside, Galahad watched as their leader leaning in to speak low to his second in command.

“You owe me a coin.”

OoOoO  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Your comments makes a bet with your kudos that Galahad will top. Your kudos raises that bet, countering that Tristan will instead. The author sits back in her chair, smokes another cigarette, and grins.


	4. Fox and Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan and Galahad find some peace together, but will it last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Try not to hate me too much. LOL.  
> One last part left after this.

Galahad woke up slowly, feeling sore but very well loved. The feeble light passing through the window could have belonged to dawn or dusk for all he knew or cared. Feeling sumptuous and languid while dozing on top of deep furs, Galahad’s only complaint in life was that his side was far too cold for his liking, his lover missing from it. The situation soon rectified itself though, Tristan appearing with a platter of food in one hand and a jug of wine in the other.

“I’ve brought us provisions.” Tristan said in way of apology for his absence when Galahad gave him a bereft look. He managed to sidle back into bed with the offerings still in hand. They had to be set aside quickly though when Galahad decided to throw a possessive leg and arm over the scout to pull him close. 

“How brave. How noble. Does the victorious knight want a reward for fulfilling his quest?” Galahad teased as he kissed the older man‘s neck to trail little devotions up to his ear. He placed a kiss to one of Tristan’s marks, tasting the embedded ink at the peak of his alpine cheek. 

“I deserve more than that.” Tristan said, turning his head to catch Galahad’s mouth with his own. The kiss was too brief for the older man’s liking, Galahad breaking it to inspect what Tristan had found to eat for them.

“That’s entirely depends on what you brought me.” Galahad challenged, nipping at the older man’s thin lips. “Hmmm….Cheese, apples, honey, bread, but no meat. I swear, you and your sweets.”

“I like my sweets.” Tristan said simply as he reached for the earthen pot full of honey. Galahad was about to make fun of him for eating it straight out of the jar without any bread when he found himself pinned down. Choking on air, Galahad jolted against the man who poured honey on his backside, the warrior feeling the cool sticky liquid seep into his crack and coat his ball sack. 

“So I gathered.” Galahad let out the words hoarsely, Tristan letting him go knowing that the man would stay where he was. Wild horses and Woads couldn’t have moved Galahad from this spot, not with Tristan trailing light, teasing touches down his back down to the source of his sticky discomfort. 

Galahad found he didn’t have to wait long. Fingers clenching down into the furs, he gasped as the mounds of his ass were parted, the warmed honey trickling over sensitive skin to cling tenaciously to it. It was persuaded to leave by a clever tongue, Tristan taking his time circling an entrance he had made tender, causing Galahad to squirm enough him. 

Gritting his teeth, Galahad cursed steadily under his breath as everything, but that orifice were cleaned off thoroughly, though the broad hot licks over his pouch and taint briefly interrupted his colorful yet vulgar litany. He still had his pride to consider, which seemed a ridiculous concept at the moment to guard so rigorously, taking into account that he wanted nothing more than for Tristan to tongue his asshole. 

When he tried to rise up a bit to relieve himself, his cock nestled against the fur not finding enough friction there to suit his growing needs, a large hand pressed to the small of his back dissuaded Galahad of this notion. 

“Gods, don’t make me beg!” Galahad pleaded, doing just that. His left ass cheek was bitten in answer, making him cry out with a frustrated growl. He was kept in place though by strong hands on the back of his thighs, Tristan parting his legs further, much to his dismay. No knight liked feeling exposed or vulnerable, but before Galahad could voice or act out his opinion on this matter, he was breached by a flexible organ. 

Air was punched out his lungs by his shock working in tandem with his stomach as it flipped, tightening lower muscles before they went liquidly warm from the sensation. It left Galahad moaning and gasping against the fur, the pitch of his arousal only rising in volume when Tristan began to hum and introduce oiled fingers alongside his tongue. 

It was all too much and not enough, Galahad finding his limited thrusts into the furs were more torture than relief. He was beyond words now, only capable of making fervent little sounds with Tristan’s name mingled and mangled among them. Four fingers deep and busy marking Galahad’s inner thighs with his teeth, Tristan seemed too occupied to care. 

“For the love of the green god, please…” Galahad finally broke, already feeling the smile Tristan pressed into his kiss before giving his inner thigh one last nip. Fingers leaving him in a rush left Galahad feeling empty and desperate. A stinging slap delivered to his ass made him lift his hips up in direct response, a dripping cockhead wet with precum soon placed to his swollen opening to press its bulbous width in. It caused Galahad to groan out something unintelligible as he felt his rim being stretched and fitted to accommodate a now familiar length.

Even as Tristan penetrated him, Galahad knew that neither of them would last long. As stoic as Tristan acted, Galahad could feel the tension coming off of him like a strap of leather being pulled too tight for too long. The snap of his lover’s hips pushed Galahad up to the edge and then over it, the recoil of his lover’s movements smooth and steady as Tristan pounded into him. 

Braced up on his forearms, Galahad found blissed out relief in Tristan’s hand, the pleasure of it leaving him shaking and barely able to stay propped up. Even as his spent dripped off of a weapon callused hand, Galahad could feel Tristan finding his own end, the man’s release pooling hot deep within him. 

When Tristan collapsed against his back, Galahad knew it was wishful thinking to keep both of them up so he left them fall to the side in a tangle of sweaty limbs and stickiness of varying sorts. 

“Look at you two. Acting like the filthy heathens the Romans accuse us of being.” were the words that made both men snap out of their haze, and go for their discarded weapons before fully realizing who was addressing them. To Gawain’s dismay, Tristan held onto his knives. 

“What of it?” Tristan growled, glaring gruesome promises at the lancer if he chose to stay. 

“Have you two even bothered to bathe since we saw you last?” Gawain mused from the doorway with a wide grin on his face.

“What do you want?” Galahad groaned, flopping over onto his back and not caring if he displayed himself in front of the other knight. Gawain had sought them out uninvited, and could deal with the ramifications of his actions. 

“I must say, you wear the fucked out look well, fair Galahad. Tristan is a lucky man.” Gawain said, studying his friend’s nudity with an appreciative eye. 

“You had your chance.” Galahad yawned, wishing Gawain would just deliver his message and leave them.

“Yes, I believe I am beginning to regret that decision.” Gawain sighed. He would have come closer, but he was convinced to stay where he was by a knife embedding itself in the wall quite near his head. 

“You’ll regret it a lot more than that if you think Tristan’s willing to share me now.” Galahad said a touch smug, though he reached over to pinch the scout’s side in warning.

“I can see his point.” Gawain said dryly, taking the knife out of the wall.

“Be careful. He has several.” Galahad warned, though he didn’t elaborate if he meant word play or actual weapons. Gawain erred on the side of caution that Tristan had both in abundance, and remained where he was. “Did you want to say anything of relevance or have you just come by to annoy us?”

“Perhaps I merely wished to check in on your well being, considering we haven’t see either of you in days.” Gawain said, a grin playing out over his lips as he watched the lovers.

“Touching. Now fuck off.” Tristan growled, finally taking the initiative to sit up to further impress upon Gawain that he would like him to leave. He considered reaching for his sword instead of his tunic. 

“Alas, but I fear I can’t. You smelly bastards will have to clothe yourselves like civilized men and meet with the other knights at the round table. Word has been sent from Rome.” Gawain delivered his message without any further ado now that two were getting up. 

“Gods, what now?” Galahad groaned, running his hands down his face. He winced at the twinge of pain in his bottom. Whatever the news was, Galahad hoped that it did not involve him riding a horse anytime soon.

“I have no idea but apparently it is of great importance.” Gawain said, looking far more amused than he should around Tristan.

“When is it not? The Romans consider scratching their arse important. That doesn’t mean I need to be told about it.” Galahad grumbled, reaching for his clothing with reluctance. Sleep would have to wait for now. 

OoOoO

“I can’t believe it. We are to be free men.” Galahad said aloud, not for the first time. He was still in a state of shock as he and Tristan sat in the square by the bar and brothel, both men watching the moon climb the night sky to take its seat there. Their minds were heavy with churning thoughts as they regarded the pearlescent disk instead of the wine in their hands. 

Arthur had called all his remaining knights together to tell them the surprisingly good news from Rome. They were to be granted a discharge from service after fifteen long years defending the crumbling vestiges of an empire. After one last task of escorting some bishop safety through the wild and the Woad filled roads, they were free to do as they pleased, to go where they liked. They could finally go home. 

“We are already free.” Tristan said, making Galahad look over at the scout with an incredulous look. 

“I don’t think you know the meaning of the word. Have you not been with the rest of us, enduring the weight of Rome’s fickle whim?” Galahad said, turning on his lover to confront him. 

“I have. Though it was not my decision to be here, I have come to find that I can easily die anywhere at anytime. It is how I live that matters, not the location I am in.” Tristan shrugged, voicing his thoughts on the matter. He was like a hawk tethered at times to a master’s glove, but he could still fly. Not even Rome could take that from him. 

“But we can go home!” Galahad stated like it was the end all, be all point of his argument. He was dismayed to find Tristan looking blandly back at him.

“Go home to what? Is there anyone even still there who would welcome us back, and even if there were, do you really think that they would do so with open arms?” Tristan pointed out to watch Galahad’s face darken deeper with every word. “I have no plans to return to a place I have no real memory of, to a people I do not know anymore.”

“So what will you do then? Stay here?” Galahad snapped, starting to feel sick as certain realizations dawned on him. 

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I can kill men anywhere. Why travel?” Tristan said too calmly, his face a mask of indifference. It was an inaccurate reflection of what was happening within him. The scout was feeling wounded, his heart beating faster than it should. 

“Is that all you really think about? Is that all you are? A killer?” the short tempered knight yelled, Galahad not giving a damn who heard him. His own heart was breaking in time to his lover’s own though he didn’t know it. 

I will not deny my true nature or calling by being something I am not.” Tristan said in all honesty even as he saw the love leave Galahad’s face. Its sudden absence made his body leech in cold and his mind grow numb. 

Feeling like he had taken a blow to the chest, Galahad forced himself to breathe through the tightness and the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. With a too light head, Galahad threw his cup aside as he rose, suddenly desperate to leave his company even as Tristan’s hand found his own, trying to steady the man and make him stay. 

Slapping Tristan’s hand away, Galahad set his jaw, finding resolve in the scout’s steady eyes, blue grey locking in to meet amber head on. They both knew what was coming, but it still had to be said. Too much had gone on between them not to. 

“You have given me your answer to the question we have left unsaid and have been made better for that. Do not seek me out anymore, and I shall do the same. We shall always be brothers in arms, bound by blood, duty, and honor, but we never shall know each other again….if we ever did.” 

OoOoO  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Your comments partake of the leftover honey. Your kudos drink the wine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Your comments dance the jig and your kudos clap along to it.


End file.
